


Fair Trade

by Valitiel (Vishnal)



Category: overwatch
Genre: Eventual Smut, Genji is a manipulative shit, M/M, all for a good cause i guess, eventually leads up to overwatch getting together, will not be dub con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7101898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vishnal/pseuds/Valitiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse seems to have set his eye on a heavy bounty on a dragon warrior. He gets the wrong one, but doesn't mind. He likes the feisty attitude and is determined to seduce Hanzo. Even so, all is not as it seems. </p><p>Slow moving plot, with even slower writing because I hate my life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A single moment of hesitation can be enough for someone to take advantage of, no matter how brief. Hanzo had a moment of realization that he had hesitated and that he would either have to combat all of hell and high waters to scrape out of the situation he had gotten himself in, or simply have to put up with the consequences of his small moment of weakness. The campsite of which the bounty hunters were situated was enclosed by an enclave of dense Japanese forest and thick shrubbery, with the back of the camp walled off against a high cliff. For any single person coming on foot it would have been difficult to get in undetected, but Hanzo had the upper hand of knowing the terrain and being able to fight from the higher ground. It should have been like shooting fish in a barrel.

  
It looked like to Hanzo that everything was going to go right for once for about five minutes – when his arrow hit the bark of the tree of which Genji was tied to and Hanzo let out a sigh of relief. After all, it was a brother’s duty to protect his younger sibling and Hanzo, admittedly had been doing a poor job of protecting his kin up until that point.

However, everything went wrong very rapidly the moment the rope snapped and Hanzo hesitated to continue shooting at his brother’s captors. Hanzo looked around to see where his brother moved to and to try and provide cover. Genji did not hesitate to move, and he had bolted before the thick coils had touched the ground. He did not need the cover that Hanzo was ready to provide…  
An archer’s work is different. Perhaps the clearing he had chosen as a nest wasn’t secure enough and he was seen, or the bounty hunters were adept at finding snipers. Hanzo had a moment of hesitation, which was followed by a bright flash of light and a loud bang before Hanzo was out cold.

Of course there is hesitation when you first wake. That is an unavoidable risk in falling unconscious that make most men in Hanzo’s line of work very light sleepers. Even so, the loud bang and blinding light was enough to disorient the archer and make him step back. The momentary light blindness giving the attacker time to rip his storm bow from his hands and whip the edge of it against his temple. The attacker showed no hesitation. Not when throwing the initial weapon, disarming Hanzo, reaming a steel bow against the archer’s head or catching the crumpled body that resulted from the three actions. The interaction as a whole was less than five minutes, but Hanzo could clearly point out where he had gone downhill, and it was in his moment of hesitation – he should not have checked for Genji—that moment taken to assure himself that he had done the right thing, and to portray contriteness to his brother, perhaps even provide cover that would have secured escape, had resulted in a sacrifice that Hanzo had not intended to take. Nonetheless it is a sacrifice he would not hesitate to make again.

Even before the light blindness had worn off Hanzo began to twist and turn in the ties that the bounty hunters had put on him while he was unable to struggle. It seemed to the archer that there was an endless amount of rope. His arms were tied to the back of a transport truck. There was rope looping around his knees and binding to the shoulders, forcing a sitting position and making it impossible to roll back up. The bound man heard a deep chuckle from behind him. The laugh had a gravel to it that suggested too many smokes in a single day – more than just a bad habit, or smoking socially. The smell of smoke itself was heavy in the camp, either from the campfire that was lit or the heavy affixation to tobacco by foreign bounty hunters. There was a crunch of leaves and thin twigs as the source of laughter moved closer towards Hanzo. The lack of sight was unsettling to the archer and the sound of an approaching enemy made thin hairs on his arms rise. He briefly wished to draw up his other sleeve as his whole body seemed to become alert from the cold of dusk, or the cold presence of an enemy. “Now, you look familiar. Ain’t I killed you before?” Hanzo felt a blindfold being loosened from his eyes and he momentarily had to squint away the vast change in lighting. His head still mildly spun from the concussive blow he had received earlier. Hanzo at first saw double, but soon could focus on the person that was sitting on his haunches before him. This was the person he should have aimed for rather than freeing Genji.

“I highly doubt it. A Shimada would not be so easily killed by some bounty hunter.” He continued to pull at the ties. Hanzo knew that his situation was dire. He travelled alone and no one would be coming for him. There was a chance that his brother, with his sense of justice and strict morals, would come back for him, but even so he would have to hold out until then.  
“A Shimada. Then this ain’t so bad. Here I thought I got some vigilante coming and lettin’ my catch go, but in fact I got me here a fair trade. Maybe somethin’ better. Catchin' Genji was just a means to some cash, but you. Heh, you ain’t tough to look at. A better trophy.” The man adjusted his belt and hat. He leaned closer and tilted Hanzo’s face upwards to get a better look at the archer. “A real fine trophy.”

Hanzo fought back the urge to spit in the man’s face. “I am no trophy.” McCree nodded to himself and positioned himself back into a standing position. “We’ll see.” He lit a cigar and inhaled deeply and turned his back to Hanzo to look at the opening of the enclave. “I’ll see you after the camp is fully set up. We didn’t expect to find anything so soon in these forests, but… Heh. You Shimadas are eager.” The bounty hunter came over to Hanzo and brushed a hand over his bare chest, making sure to tease at Hanzo’s hardened nipple, before he gave Hanzo a wink and two firm pats on the shoulder.

Hanzo growled at McCree. “I will not be so easy.”


	2. Leap

By the time McCree returned there was a vast dispersion of his men. The sun had not set yet and it still lit the forest of pink that Hanamura had become known for. The real flowers had yet to bloom, so synthetic ones stood their place just prior to the blooming season of the real sakura. “The rest of my crew’s gunna spread out for a bit. They’re gunna scan the place for your brother and see if he’s still in the area. He ain’t goin’ to go far since he probably thinks I’m gonna have my filthy way with you. That gives you an’ me some time to get cozy. Now we can’t get too cozy here since you’re all tied up an’ all, but I’mma cut you loose once I tell you how come.”

McCree pulled a pocket knife out of one of the pouches strapped to his waist and flicked it open with its thumb jack. “Now. I’m not about to keep you hostage here forever. That’d be against my morals and very un-gentlemanlike of me. However, it is not against my morals to keep your fancy bow safe and sound away from any fighting, or possible collateral damage.” McCree winked and put his knife under the rope that bound Hanzo. If the archer had any inkling of discomfort it didn’t show. Jesse was not convinced though – the bow must have been a family heirloom of some sort; it was an older model especially for an uncommon weapon, tempered steel with traditional blue ribbon wrapping. Jesse took a breath before he firmly pressed the serrated switch blade against the rope fibers and cut them apart, he exhaled as if allowing himself time to pray that his gambit would pay off – an initial leap of faith.

Hanzo grunted at the sudden blood circulation that returned to his legs and arms. He gingerly rubbed them to try to get some circulation back into them before standing. “Here, partner.” He looked up at McCree and quickly diverted his eyes elsewhere. The man was reaching out to him with his prosthetic arm and offering him help to stand. Help that Hanzo did not need. He had spent many hours before crouched in uncomfortable positions while waiting for a mark, and this was no different. Aside from the uncomfortable pounding that resided at the base of his neck and the wooziness from a possible (very likely) concussion. Hanzo though was not going to show weakness that easily. He was the head of the Shimada clan and could take care of himself.

            “Really Hanzo. You’d rather rub your face against the ground than take my hand. I’d be really offended if you didn’t look cute distressed an’ angry.” McCree huffed. He was a bit ruffled that it wasn’t going to be romantic and cute like in the movies. He wasn’t going to be riding a horse into the sunset with Hanzo, and that – Yes – he would have to do things the hard way. He shook his head wearily and looped an arm around Hanzo’s midsection. Hanzo had fallen and now he was using his arm to prop himself up. Hanzo’s metal legs didn’t seem to want to co-operate with the rest of his body, and the concussion could be the reason for the lack of response from the mechanical legs. McCree huffed and lifted the smaller man like a sack; he put Hanzo over his shoulder, Hanzo's arms hung behind the cowboy’s neck (a place that would be a lot less likely to cause a lot of harm if Hanzo chose to struggle).

Of course the moment that the Shimada noticed that he was off the ground the kicking and waving arms began.  “Stop it. Jeez. I’m gonna accidentally drop you into the fire if you keep that up.” McCree grunted as Hanzo got a particularily good shot on his back that knocked the wind out of him a little. Even though Hanzo was upside down, concussed and probably disoriented he could still struggle like a deranged man. It didn’t make McCree’s job of carrying Hanzo to the fire any easier either. Though Hanzo was a head shorter than McCree, the archer was all muscle. Toned by drawing what was likely at least a ninety-pound pressure bow while lifting it at full arm extension. The back muscles had to be fully developed for that sort of posture and maintaining a draw, not to mention the abdominal muscles necessary to maintain a good aiming posture while firing such a heavy weapon. “Where you gonna go if I drop you anyways? You don’t wanna sit next to a fire and have dinner?”

At this Hanzo stopped struggling and let out an exasperated sigh. It was long and dreary – like a cornered animal that knew that it was caught. McCree could feel the shudder of a breath through his chest plate and serape. It was like the breath one took after a long period of time crying or right after you finished a long, LONG day. The breath after the first kill. The breath when you realize that you might just be killed. McCree put Hanzo down gently and draped his serape over Hanzo. “It’s gettin’ cold out an’ you ain’t wearin’ much.” Jesse explained.

Hanzo did not respond he looked coldly at the fire and tried to will his legs to move, which only resulted in a few twitches along the ankles. “Your wiring might have gotten a bit fucked by the flash bang. Or maybe when you fell and your leg caught on something.” McCree walked over to the caravan full of things and rustled about. “I can fix it if you promise not to bite.”

The cowboy returned with a small tool kit. It was filled with replacement wiring and small screwdrivers, a soldering iron and pliers. “I get my arm in a pickle all the time. Don’ rain a lot where I’m from. I don’t carry an umbrella and I ain’t got time to keep waiting for it to stop rainin’. The wires are old and sometimes the rain makes it easy to get something loose in there. My gun bangs on it a bunch too. Ain’t easy shootin’ fast with a metal hand.” McCree rambled on. He tried to keep a comfortable amount of noise present, so it wasn’t the literal sounds of crickets singing and wind rustling through leaves.

Hanzo looked up at him and didn’t object to the suggestion, but didn’t say yes either. “My brother… What were you going to do to him if I had not come?” Hanzo used his hands to pull the non-functioning legs up to a bent position and wrapped the serape around himself. The fire scorched the skin of the closest arm with its heat, but the rest of his body was still beginning to become cold from nightfall’s approach. The cloth would help buffer the heat and insulate his body heat.  The smell of the fire was soothing to Hanzo. It reminded him of traditionally cooked food and the hearth of his family before everything fell apart. The cigar smoke of the serape reminded him of the city that resided on the cusp of Hanamura and the old people that smoked after giving incense offerings outside the city’s local shrine.

McCree put the tool box down, setting it aside away from Hanzo and took a seat close to the man. He left about half a person’s distance from Hanzo. “Well. I was going to turn him in for a bounty. Some locals here aren’t a fan of him.” He stretched his arms out and propped himself up on with them. His palms were flat on the ground as he leaned back against them. He turned his head when Hanzo let out a dry scoff.

“You were going to return him to the Shimada clan. To a death sentence.” Hanzo’s eyes steeled over, and looked at McCree in disgust. “They have a bounty on me too. Turn me in and go home. The money will make you a comfortable man for many lifetimes and then some.” He stated and turned away from McCree.

McCree tilted his head down and he frowned at the proposition. “I ain’t turnin’ anyone in to die. Genji woulda made it back out. Probably.” McCree lit a cigar with the campfire. “I was with him in the Overwatch for years and I never seen a man move that fast before. He’d get out lickty split.”

“Mmm.” Hanzo did not acknowledge McCree further. “You were going to fix my legs.” He stated as he turned to face the westerner. “Hanzo pulled his legs into a full extension for McCree and gestured to them.

“Why I never thought I’d have you open up your legs to me so soon. I’d be damned.” McCree gloated, and took a celebratory drag of his cigar at his own joke.

Hanzo blushed and his face tensed. “Shut up and begin.” He opened the side panel and hissed as the mechanism detached itself from his nerves. A leap of faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

            McCree took his sweet time with fixing Hanzo’s leg, though not entirely at his own fault. Yes, he really liked being close to the dangerous archer (basically a hair’s length away from the man’s crotch) without danger of being maimed. Yes, he liked occasionally ‘accidentally’ brushing against Hanzo’s inner thigh as he adjusted the flash light he was using to see into the leg's inner panel, or to switch a different tool. However aside from the enjoyment he got from being willingly allowed so close to an elusive man’s personal space it was also really dark, and he could not figure out what was wrong with Hanzo’s leg for the better half of an hour. Being around his fine catch was like having a wild deer suddenly warm up to you. He imagined a bird of paradise suddenly going from skittish to being fond. It felt as if at any moment Hanzo would snap up and run away, so anyone who got close had to savour every moment the reserved man gave them.

 McCree mumbled to himself, humming and hawing while he tried to find if something was loose or maybe a part was knocked out…

“Are you alright down there?” Hanzo asked.

There was a slight tenseness of impatience; a practiced terseness that one would use with an impudent child that needed to behave during a wedding or funeral without misbehaving, or when speaking with customer service over the phone. Hanzo had a way of making every word heavy, and filled with intent. McCree could imagine many orders being given with that tone back in the day. It was a tone of voice that edged on displeasure (easily rectified displeasure), but is often misconstrued as concern. McCree would be damned if he didn’t find that level of power over someone arousing as hell. If he could do it himself he would be set – charming, rugged lookin’ and having a tone of authority – one word and he’d have people on his knees. Jesse doesn’t have much of an authoritative voice though. He’s too slack. All southern drawl and honey-sweet promises, and what he doesn’t have in voice, so he makes up for with his eyes.

            McCree glanced up from between Hanzo’s legs and winked. “As fine as I’d ever be. Just gotta be careful with your legs. They’re mighty thin and I don’t wanna ruin a piece of fine work like that.” He shot the man one of his award winning smiles and went back to working on the legs. Whoever made these legs were delicate in their work, far more delicate than McCree could ever manage with his big, burly hands and jumble of tree trunk like limbs. The man’s prosthetics were like sparrows’ legs: dainty and thin. McCree doubted that he himself could use such prosthetics. He reckoned he’d down right topple over. The machinery was more complex than what he used in his arm. As such he treated Hanzo’s legs like fine china. He had a pair of angled tweezers to pull apart bunches of wire that blocked the view of those behind them. He got absorbed in fixing the legs and didn’t notice Hanzo’s response to his flirting. A quick flush of red that flooded to his cheeks and eyes that darted away from McCree’s deadlock stare. What McCree couldn’t say with words he had tenfold with his eyes.

Within ten minutes of pulling all the way in the very back of the panel he found what was wrong. A simple connection wire knocked loose by the force of a concussive blow. He figured that it was the same with the other leg. He connected the wire back into place, and doesn’t miss Hanzo’s twitch when whatever was left of the nerve endings of his thigh re-connected with the prosthetic. “Yeah. Re-connecting’s a bitch, and you’re going to be sore for a day. Maybe more since it’s been dislodged for a little while.” McCree was glad that the issue was as simple as plugging a connection wire back into its socket. He was all for winging it, but he was no engineer. He looked successful this time in front of the Shimada, and no doubt would have been shot down if he had to acquiesce and carry the man to a mechanic.

He did the same to the other leg, with no word from Hanzo. He doesn’t twitch that time, having steeled himself for the sensitivity of connection and the rebounding electrical pulses.

“You have my thanks.” Hanzo offered curtly when McCree was done. Now that was able to move his legs once more he drew them up to his chest once more and wrapped his arms around them. The serape that was drawn around him looped over the metal and brushed against McCree’s forehead. “As much as you can have seeing as you are keeping me here.” He added gruffly as if just remembering that he was held here for the sake of his bow.

McCree chuckled and rolled away from Hanzo’s legs, putting a head’s distance between Hanzo’s toe on one side and the fire on the other side. He grabbed his hat from beside the tool box, where he had weighed it down with a wrench before he had begun to fix Hanzo’s legs.

“Ain’t nothing.” He put the hat over his face and let his own breath warm his face a bit. “Gotta get on your good side somehow.” He stretches on the ground a bit, and groans when the muscles and joints click around after having to be stuck in one position for the duration of helping the archer. He rolled himself back to a sitting position. “Though the real way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so I ought to go find us some grub.” He put the hat back on.

Hanzo thought that it was silly of him to wear such an awful looking hat when it was getting even darker out, but couldn’t help but think that it suited him well. Awful and dumb, much like the cowboy. Hanzo got up and followed. “I will catch my own food.”

McCree huffed. “You, and what weapon?” He armed himself with his Peace Keeper and shoved a few plastic bags into one of his side pouches. “I ain’t letting you near a sharp object unless you’ riding my dick and callin’ me honey, but you ain’t nowhere near that sweet on me.” He scoffed and kept packing his gear. McCree took out the very same hunting knife he freed Hanzo with and dislodged a piece of rope from the serrated edge.

Hanzo blushed heavily at McCree’s bluntness, but supposed that he wouldn’t let himself have a weapon either. The Shimadas were all trained assassins – virtually everything could be used as a weapon. “I do not need a weapon to catch a fish. Come, someone like you will wander for hours in the forest and die of starvation before you catch anything.”

Hanzo began to walk in the opposite direction of McCree, and Jesse followed along. “Someone like me, huh?”

“Yes someone like you.”

“Forests got something against good looking?”

“The world as something against idiots. If you die, the location of my bow dies with you.” Hanzo huffed and snapped a branch off a tree. He stabbed the ground hard enough to make a one-inch-deep hole in the dirt. The man twisted the branch into the ground and snapped the branch shorter, only leaving two inches protruding from the ground. “You would not find your way back without a guide.” The moon had risen and the ground began to have a sheen of dew.

McCree smiled. “Alright then. Be a courteous host an’ lead the way then.”


	4. Chapter 4

McCree trailed behind Hanzo, who walked quickly through the forest. McCree was certain that Hanzo would have walked slowly had he been by himself, but in the presence of the bounty hunter he would never let there be the illusion that what they were doing was relaxed or leisurely. Hanzo kept at a pace where once McCree finally caught up with him, he would be greeted once again by the tails of the long yellow ribbon in his hair. McCree was fortunate that the forest canopy was filled with the synthetic cherry blossom trees, or the dim light of the moon would not reveal where Hanzo was or where he was going. McCree followed a good distance behind Hanzo though. He supposed both of them were going to the same place, so there wasn’t much point in breaking into a light jog with Hanzo when he could just speed walk. As long as McCree kept up and didn’t lose sight of the archer he could walk whatever pace he wished. Jesse knew that if he were to lag too much that Hanzo would immediately berate the cowboy. Perhaps Hanzo would blame the chaps he was wearing, or criticize McCree’s choice to continue wearing spurs and leather cowboy boots in Hanamura. McCree reckons that Hanzo would just assume him lazy and undisciplined enough to keep fit. McCree wouldn’t argue it. He was a couple too many smokes a day to keep up with any sort of fast paced cardiovascular exercise for an extended period of time, and a few more beers to a beer belly that wouldn’t be able to be hidden behind his armor.

They looped endlessly in the forest. Hanzo would occasionally leave another marker in the dew dampened soil. The markers were a good show of camaraderie, but McCree had a suspicion that it was unnecessary for the archer. Hanamura was his home, and if the man was the head of the Shimada clan for any period of time, he would know the surrounding forest like the back of his hand. He suspected that Hanzo had looped around the same places a few times just to disorient McCree’s sense of direction and to ensure that the other man wouldn’t be luring Hanzo into a trap. McCree knew that he most likely would not be getting back to the campsite without Hanzo’s guidance -- at least not till day break.

After a full thirty minutes of walking they reached a clearing. The trees became more sparse and there was a littering of small shrubbery that bordered a small creek. The segment of the creek was where the water flowed into a deep “U” shaped bend. The water was clear, save for petals and leaves blown into the water. Jesse could clearly see some sort of fish swimming in the deeper water in the bend. Hanzo carefully waded into the water. The slight ripple of the creek broke the monotonous song of crickets and cicada. The sounds of the night gave McCree the idea that even if they weren’t to catch a fish he could most likely even find a toad that wouldn’t taste great, but would be a meal. He remembered a show he had watched when he was younger about bullfrogs living in such creeks, but didn’t know if it applied in Hanamura. Heck, he didn’t even know if it would apply to such a location. He didn’t care much though. McCree was sure that if the Overwatch ever got back together he’d ask Mei-Ling what the synthetic environments of places like Hanamura did to the animals near by.

He spectated Hanzo testing the water. He carefully placed his feet underwater, and balanced himself from stone to stone. The metal of his feet were slippery against the rock, but he would wade further and find firm footing before shifting further. By the time that Hanzo was well in the middle of the stream, the water had reached his knees. McCree saw the man exhale deeply, as if beginning to meditate. The moonlight illuminated Hanzo slightly, giving the archer and the water around him an iridescent quality. McCree lost his breath for a moment. Jesse always had a bit of wanderlust and would get caught up in his surroundings too easily. He loved cinematics, and hollywood drama. He thought about the searing sun beams of noon, rolling tumbleweeds and plumes dust. The buzz of cicadas and a warm, dry wind passing a ghost town that seemed to go on forever like a still photo. Hanzo was the opposite. He had the feeling of the pale light of the moon. Ephemeral light and borrowed time. It was a heatless light accompanied by the waning vibrato of the cricket’s choir. It was different, but to McCree equally breathtaking as stepping into the good ol’ deserts of SanteFe. Jesse figured he’d let Hanzo do his thing. Not intervene with the focus of an expert -- McCree remembered trying to talk to Genji while the ninja meditated, and the consequences.

Just when McCree thought that he managed to get used to the feeling of tranquility that Hanzo gave off the man suddenly struck down into the water. There was a loud thrashing against the water as Hanzo pulled a fish out of the creek by the underside of its gills. “Holy shit. Ya’ just ripped the thing right out of the water like you plucked a darn carrot out of the ground.” The cowboy thought that catching fish with one’s bare hands was a thing of fiction, but evidently not. Hanzo struggled a little with his grip on the fish before turning to glare at McCree. “Pick your jaw off the ground. The flies here are for bullfrogs.”

Jesse shook out of his stupor. McCree pulled off his boots and took his belt off. McCree simply disrobed in front of Hanzo and brought carefully waded out to where Hanzo was wrestling the fish to submission. The cold water was a shock to his legs, but at least his upper body was kept warm by his trusty serape. He brought a plastic bag with him and Hanzo held the fish out in front of McCree. “Grab it from under the gill, or you will lose it.” The archer took McCree’s human hand and upturned McCree’s hand. It would have been romantic if not for the fact that Hanzo promptly hooked a fish on McCree’s fingers. McCree cringed internally at the gross wet feeling. “Now. Do it quickly.”

Hanzo made full eye contact with McCree and McCree found himself wondering what the Japanese man meant. “Do what?” He inquired as he weighed the fish in his hand. It wasn’t very big, but just over a pound. Hanzo sighed and rolled his eyes. He gestured with his eyes at the hunting knife hooked on the collar of McCree’s shirt. 

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Were you thinking of putting the fish directly in your bag?” Hanzo quirked a brow at him. “It is still alive.”

McCree nodded, and flicked the knife open by the thumbjack. McCree quickly put the fish out of its misery with a quick cut. Hanzo noted that it was clearly practiced. “Wasn’t a boy scout, but growin’ up with the Deadlocks learned ya’ a few things.” He grinned grimly and put the fish in the back while balancing the open knife and plastic bag in the other hand. “Not a lot of fish on Route 66 since it’s in the middle of a desert, but I got a heck of a lot better when I got to put theory to practice later on.”

“Taught. They taught you things.”

“Taught, learned. You got my lingo and that’s what’s important. Ol’ habits die hard sweetheart.” He shrugged and ignored Hanzo’s correction.  McCree knotted the bag and threw it to shore where his pants and boots were laid out. “But I wanna learn that fish catching trick you just did.” He threw an arm around Hanzo out habit. The next thing he knew the man grabbed the arm that was around his shoulders, pulled himself from under it and twisted the arm. McCree didn’t think it hurt much as the metal arm didn’t have great sensors, but his shoulder was not altogether happy about the situation it was in. 

Hanzo growled and pulled on McCree’s arm tighter until he elicited a hiss and slight stumble from the other man. McCree kept his head down to keep from the shoulder pulling too much and watched the water ripple as they stilled. “Unlearn this bad habit of yours before I teach you anything. I am not your friend, and I do not plan to be your friend.” Hanzo pushed McCree off of him into the water. “You also scared all of the fish away with your loud ungraceful foot steps.” Hanzo scoffed and waded back to shore. McCree frowned and rearranged the hat on his head. He charged forward and made loud splashing sounds as he did so, but Hanzo wasn’t expecting McCree to move so quickly while wet. McCree tackled down Hanzo and both of them hit the water. McCree was particularly heavy with the soaked serape. He wrestled Hanzo in the shallows of the water and eventually straddled the man and got his wrists in a tight hold. Hanzo may have been more physically able to handle a fist to fist fight, but McCree outweighed him dry and had the element of surprise.

“I know you’re not bounding to be my friend, but that was low. You know. I know the look of a man who’s looking for a little bit of redemption, and is a little tired of getting dealt shitty hands by life. I want to try to be the one to-”

Hanzo kicked his legs and tried to throw the man off of him. “Do not give me the premise that you are doing this to befriend me or offer me redemption. Just as you think you know who I am, I know someone who is only thinking with his body. You do not think I know your intentions, but I do. If your goal is to sleep with me, then hurry up and do so, if your goal is fortune, then hand me over to the Shimadas. Do not try and paint yourself as a saint. I am beyond redemption.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise twist coming up in the next chapter.


End file.
